The Whitney I Knew (5 page)

Did this gift make sense to Michael? I don't know. Perhaps. The amount of fame that Whitney had garnered already as a twenty-six-year-old had propelled her into a lonely way of life. But can you imagine thinking that another person would be so lonely that they'd need a pet monkey? This was someone's reality?

This is what seclusion does to a person. Whitney didn't struggle with the inclination toward extreme reclusivenes like Michael did, though I can see now how that gift from Michael was a foreshadowing of the turbulent days ahead for Whitney.

In my life, it was not that I said, “Well, I'm gonna entertain” [or]
“I want to be an entertainer.” It's in my bloodline; I can't help it.
It is something that God said: “This is what you do.” It's in me.
Whitney

The first time I heard Whitney sing, I was riding in a cab. It was one of those experiences where you hear a song more or less in the background, but it grabs you and leaves you speechless. Don't you have a certain song that always brings back a very specific memory? I can still smell that old cab I was riding in and hear this nameless voice soaring smooth and effortless over the cheap car radio. I waited for the DJ to name the singer, but he didn't.

“Who was that?” I yelled. I was talking to myself, but I'm sure the cab driver was surprised at my passion. I
had
to know!

The singer had that
special something
that few singers ever tap into. I heard the distinction immediately. It's what made me push
Pause
on my day and take note. Though I was frustrated to step out of that cab without knowing that singer's name, eventually providence would have its way, and I would receive the blessing of being introduced to the owner of that stunning voice.

That blessing materialized in 1985 when my brothers Marvin and Ronald attended a Jeffrey Osborne concert with me on a beautiful summer evening in Detroit. A tall, skinny, poofy-haired girl opened the evening and stole the show—no disrespect to Jeffrey. That night I was able to put the voice with a face.

I grew up in the church, singing gospel before I could say my ABCs. I was weaned on the great “soul” that accompanies gospel music. So, when I was finally introduced to this skinny girl with the big voice, I had one question to ask her: “I don't want to hear your nickname or anything else about you. I just want to know what church you're from. Because when I hear you sing, I know you
have
to come from someone's church. So, which one?”

And thus marks the moment when I saw that famous Whitney smile—the one that started at her left ear and attached to her right. The one that said, “I got you,” while at the same time saying, “Let's paint this town with song.”

“New Hope Baptist,” she replied, beaming. I would later find out that New Hope was the church she grew up in—the site of her first public solo as a young girl.

All I knew that night was that she came from a church. A voice like hers had to have been molded by the halls of worship.

Sure enough, she hailed from East Orange, a suburb of Newark. (Her parents moved the family out of Newark after the riots, when Whitney was four years old. Her church was located in the heart of Newark. So she was a Jersey church girl. That said it all to me.)

Eternally and instantly, I was a fan—all of the Winans were. And it turns out she was a fan of ours as well. That night she had sung my brothers' song “Tomorrow” in her set. I had no idea she knew my family, but she told us that she listened to our music every day.

From that time on, we weren't just friends, we were
family
. And even then, she loved having us around—being together, talking, acting crazy. But it was a good crazy. Not the crazy you get when fame slams into you like a wrecking ball.

In some ways she was an enigma to me: the so-fun-and-crazy Whitney—and then she'd sing. From that crazy girl rose this
voice
. It was the stop-you-in-your-tracks voice I heard that day in the cab.

I had a hunch that the mystery of Whitney that drew me and my family to her would blossom into something great. Many people had that same hunch. But did we ever think that blossom would later become something so delicate and rare?

If anyone was born to sing, it was Whitney. Some people may call it dumb luck—I call it God. Whatever you want to call it, this much I know: God placed Whitney into a musical family, a legendary one. Her mom, Cissy, possessed a powerful voice in her own right and formed the Drinkard Singers, a gospel group in which her sister, Lee Drinkard, sang as well. Lee was the mother of Dee Dee and Dionne Warwick. Cissy also formed the Sweet Inspirations, who then sang backup for the likes of Elvis Presley, Van Morrison (“Brown-Eyed Girl”), and Aretha Franklin. Talk about a bloodline!

To top it off, Aretha Franklin—or “Aunt Ree,” as Whitney called her—was Whitney's godmother. That's no dumb luck, my friends!

It was the soulful singing of Aretha that Whitney sought to emulate as a young girl. Aretha Franklin has always been known to possess that quality that allows her to communicate on a very personal level with her music. That's why we call her the “Queen of Soul.” But the woman has gospel in her veins.

In 2012, she'll be inducted into the Gospel Music Hall of Fame. And her 1972 album
Amazing Grace
is still one of the best-selling gospel records of all time. If you haven't heard Aretha's version of the title song, well, listen to it. If you're lost, you'll be found.

When you consider Whitney's bloodline and influences, the path she took was no surprise. She was a thoroughbred singer, mentored by some of the great gospel singers of a generation—arguably of the past century. I think it was the mentors in her life that kept Whitney from spiraling early on, like so many young entertainers do. It was also these mentors who modeled a life in music—what that meant, the joys that came with it, the responsibility of having talent. The women in her life not only showed her how to sing, they showed her how to be a singer.

It didn't hurt either that her mother and father maintained a firm rein on the household. It was because of their guidance that Whitney was able to benefit from a simple and rich upbringing—the same kind of life I know she wants for her own daughter. Whitney received several contract offers when she was a teenager. But Cissy and John, her father, made it clear that she was to finish high school
before she started down the entertainment path. They only signed with Clive Davis after they vetted him thoroughly.

It's easy, sometimes, to look back on our childhood and resent things. And some of us have good cause for that. But Whitney was not only blessed with a voice, she was blessed with family and close friends who supported her and loved her enough to tell her
no
when she needed to hear it. We don't like rules very much. But rules and standards empower us. They instill confidence—a confidence that comes from knowing someone cares enough to do what is needed and right for you. That's what Whitney had. And that's what I heard during that cab ride. A young voice but confident; a young singer who knew who she was; a voice searching for the pool of passion deep within that song.

In the commemorative Whitney edition of
Life
magazine, Dolly Parton reminisced about the time she praised Whitney for her performance of Dolly's song, “I Will Always Love You,” on
The Bodyguard
soundtrack. At the time, Whitney received the compliment with grace, but she also, in her humility, deflected it. Dolly insisted then, and still insists, that no one else could have done what Whitney did to that song. How true. I call that
the Whitney effect
. But Whitney would probably tell you it had something to do with the Aretha effect.

Whitney had the uncanny ability to not only draw from that “Aretha well of soul” deep inside her, but she was able to revitalize a song—making it totally her own. Dolly's version of that single was just fine, by her own admission. Whitney's version broke sales records that still stand today.

Whitney knew where that
thing
came from. She said as much when I asked her what church she attended the first time I met her. Her smiling answer gave her up.

Some things are so clearly given by God. When you hear someone like Whitney sing, it might be easy to say, “Well, look who her mother was; look at her relatives. They were all so talented.” I think that's true. But it's more too.

It was the church in her. The gospel passion fused into pop. When you combine that with one of the greatest voices of all time, what do you get? That's not only family heritage or good mentoring, it's heaven's gifting.

Whitney always recognized God and his impact on her life. That's why she beamed when I asked about her church. That's why she often told the media that it was important for the men in her life to love the Lord. It was a gospel song that broke Whitney into singing to begin with: “Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah.” That wasn't just a song to Whitney. It represented her prayer and desire. She pursued God and loved her gospel roots.

I was talking to a friend of mine the other day about how so many people that I meet in the entertainment business grew up in the church, and yet, for whatever reason, many of them have left it. Who knows why? Maybe the church hurt them or they just grew to resent God. Still, it's interesting to me that even though so many revile the church or never find their way to it to begin with, they end up walking down the aisle in a church to speak vows to the person they love. And then, eventually, they sit beside family and friends in a pew listening to people eulogize someone they loved.

Life tends to drive us to church, at least on occasion. Even more, life tends to drive us to God.